


Any Means Necessary

by sabriel75



Series: Any Means Necessary [1]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Dark, Hatesex, Multi, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabriel75/pseuds/sabriel75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Emotions do not force humans to feel nor do they excuse unacceptable behavior as much as we'd like to blame them. However, when L refuses B; he wants, needs to see L bleed like a human.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Hope for Beyond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saphariel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=saphariel).



> Merry Christmas, [Bloodshot Eyes](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1391116/Bloodshot_Eyes) :D

**PROLOGUE**

L usually does not trifle with trivialities, and after all, they are just the alternate and the back-up.

He shows though, stopping in the doorway. B hears him shuffle, switch the majority of his weight to his right leg and lift the left to scratch behind it. B thinks his discomfort should be more pronounced; his hesitation in approaching A laid out on the metal slab not enough. There should be sure signs of his guilt, an open admittance that it is his very existence that flagged death down and made it stop for her.

Yet he is composed as ever, and leans against the door of the autopsy lab before speaking, "B, Wammy says it's time."

Socially conscious now that he must be, A's final defiant act, L must show some pretense of remorse for leaving them to rot among the competition. What does it matter though, B realizes L is not really here. His attentions never waver for such mundane occurrences as death. He is probably even now reviving cases that have supposedly gone cold, have been dormant since before their births, their very first breath upon this earth. His heirs' short span of life no prize in relation to the monstrously creative criminal minds L preys upon, thrives upon.

And they, all three, know the madness in genius; in the seclusion of being one-of-a-kind, the weariness of their own psyche's inability to slow or come to a complete stop, to even take a breather. Only A believed they were fixable, as if Wammy's House could save them from the inevitable insanity.

She is—was certifiably insane to think that it was possible.

That's why B is here. He stands at the metallic stretcher's right, his thoughts strangling reason and emotion. She may have not been anything to him, most definitely nothing to him as he hazards a glance at their mentor quietly sidling in to stand at his side, but he knows he is suppose to feel something more! Much more than the pervasive, echoing silence suffocating him and he knows that L knows too.

"It's your fault, y'know," B says squirrely, as if he itches to run after the words released into the void he and L cannot fill despite the intensity of who they are, of what they lack.

L lets the silence do his talking.

Come to your own conclusions has a certain understated elegance all of its own especially when accompanied by a hard edge of nonchalance and don't care. B wishes he could pull off the look, because L manages it. When he has tried it, he only gets creepier, a feat, A had previously not thought possible when he tried it out on her.

He examines his white wrists, free of the slashes that make A no longer a viable option, and wonders why he's given so much consideration to his competition. His pale complexion nearly as white as A's is. He looks at L and notices his skin-tone is just as translucent. Ironic that is. None of them differ even now when the ghost of her last breath left days ago.

"Hope killed her, B," L suddenly interjects, "Not me." He places a warm hand on B's wrist to still his fidgeting fingers, reminding B that he isn't a specter but a real live being with blood flowing freely through those blue veins. And their wrists and fingers entwine and B manages the inklings of a feeling. A murderous urge that grows with each new realization that L's remorse is not fake, but neither is it for A.

L feels as if he has failed, or that Wammy's House has failed. Either way, there is no hope left for B. A has taken it with her to the grave, and with her departure, the removal of one failed prototype, only B remains, the spoiled experiment left to gestate too long. And he hates L for his clinical detachment. And he loves him for the challenge he presents.

And he wants; needs to see L bleed like a human.

"Hope doesn't make you weak," he snaps testily, grabbing a scalpel off a nearby tray before he manacles L's wrist with his wiry, steely fingers, "This does!"

B cuts L slowly. The blade barely penetrates the skin, slicing through the dermis layer without hesitation. B wants the sting of its precision to be hyperbolized, but his satisfaction gets ripped away by L's stoic posture and amused gaze as he sees bubbles of blood form at the edge of the cut. His smile benign, he looks up with feigned innocence and expectation.

"The flesh is weak," B explains, cackling like the madman they expect him to be.

L's movements are too smooth and swift for B to react. L's spread-open jutting palm and wrist hit squarely between his nostrils. A nauseating crunch, the only warning B has before blood spews from the wound.

"Don't forget bones," L rejoins, seemingly at complete ease in the wake of the bloodbath he has just incurred. He gives B a speculative once-over before smiling, "We're flesh and bone," he chuckles and begins to walk away.

"And basic instincts," B gleefully taunts, his nose pinched by his thumb and forefinger in an effort to stop the steady flow of blood streaming down his face and trickling down his throat. "_Fight or Flight_. Right, L?" He gurgles out before choking on his own life substance.

L looks positively radiant to see some fight left in B. He saunters back over, his hands in his pockets as if he's holstered the deadliest of weapons and smiles down on B. The same self-sure smile of indolence he gives the rest of humanity when patronizing them. "Really B, that's your theory on my departure? I'm much more inclined to believe it's survival of the fittest."


	2. Beyond Convention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Only B can make L react so strongly and A hates that he can._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Holocaust references and debate on animal cruelty
> 
> Additional Character: Roger Ruvie

The epiphany hit Roger around the second hour of standing in line with his three "nephews" bickering over the probability of being disqualified for the abuse of animals.

Apparently, B and L did not believe animal cruelty regulations applied to lab-born rats and they should enter the competition. For the opposition, A, by his lonesome, refused to be cowed and continued to argue that all animals, no matter their origin, were protected.

Roger thought the only being treated inhumanely at this moment was him.

And the only science project gone wrong here was the one Roger was currently heading. Wammy had fobbed his temperamental genii off on him, and it had been premeditated. Blue-eyed cicadas indeed! He had been lured into this folly by an irrational love of bugs.

No rare specimen was worth all this! As Roger mentally formulated a revenge equal of the torment he was now enduring, B waltzed back into line to goad his other two "brothers" yet again.

"Ever seen a grown man cry? PhD's shouldn't be allowed out of their labs. Contaminated air doesn't suit them," B laughingly bragged as he clung haphazardly to A's outstretched arms and swung him around in circles.

"Who'd you torment this time?" A managed through breathless giggles, still spinning delightedly at B's urging.

"Some Nutter who called me a reprobate," B said, thoroughly amused by his story and A's wobbly balance now that he had stopped spinning. "Actually survived Auschwitz," he continued on as he threw one of his arms around A's shoulders and shrugged him close to keep him steady.

"Who?" A asked, dizzy and disoriented.

"The scientist B directed his unwanted attentions upon," L deadpanned, blank face unchanged as always.

Except to B. Who noticed the disdain behind it, and the tone.

"Even you believe we should use the Nazis' data," B said spitefully. "What's wrong with my arguments?"

The roll of L's eyes, unnoticed by Roger but certainly seen by A and B, heightened the rising tension between the three boys. A leaned further into B. He could feel B's body tighten and his hand that had rested gently before on A's shoulder was now clenched.

"Tell me B," L asked, a quiet menace lurking in the tone. "Tell me you didn't know the man was a Holocaust survivor before you started the argument. Lie to me and make me believe you."

L smiled a smile filled with brotherly affection. The display conniving-ly genuine-looking, A and B being the only ones to know it for what it was. A dare aimed squarely at B.

"Can you lie to me, B?" L taunted openly. His false persona so perfectly honed, no one would ever suspect the anger and threat concealed behind it. Only B knew the full extent of it and he loved knowing he could make this side of L appear.

If only L could see that he too had such a side. How he would gift L with all of himself if he would only let him in.

"How far will you go to try and impress me? What do you expect from me?" L's hatefully-neutral tone sliced through B's introspection. "Do you think you can beat me at my own game?

"Next time use your own words, your own arguments. Do not borrow mine, especially if you want me…." L trailed off. He smiled winningly again at B and A as if nothing was amiss. The dangling statement left as it was. They all knew each one had their own way of completing it and no two were alike. Then L transformed again, every dangerous undercurrent erased completely that B who had just boasted of being able to see past the façade, could not.

The ploy worked, and B forced the pent-up rage to subdue, yet again. When L made the conscious choice to leave, no one could follow. Emotional oblivion was not something B could affect. He masked himself easily but not as thoroughly as L had. So he played his wild card.

Joker's wild.

B laughed; laughed hysterically until he doubled over, leaving A to steady himself without B's supportive arm. He playfully punched L in the shoulder when he straightened. His own shoulders shook from his continuing chuckles. "Why…," he giggled, caught his breath and then stood tall, hand still gripping L's shoulder. "Why so serious, L?" he asked before convulsing into another fit of giggles.

Roger looked between the three, noticing something was off with the picture but not caring enough to investigate further. His only concern was B's laughter. "B, tone it down. People are staring at us."

The boy turned malicious eyes upon him and Roger shuddered inwardly. B was as creepy as he was charismatic and Roger did not want to row with him in public. He quickly added, "Wammy said we aren't to draw attention to ourselves. You know the rules."

A dazzlingly charming smile disarmed his fear before it fully-formed and Roger found himself smiling back at the amenable lad. "Of course, Roger. Sorry."

B turned to A then, "Do you still think we won't be allowed to enter?"

"Nah, you know I only argued to irritate you," A whined pitifully, causing both B and L to flinch. "Are you mad at me?"

"No darling," B replied placatingly, patting A on the head like a good little puppy before skipping off towards the hotel elevator. "After all this waiting, I need a nap though. You don't mind if I forsake you for the comfort of my room," he said, turning only partially back towards them mid-skip. "I'm only a reprobate after all," he added, looking squarely at L with a tenacious smirk and a half bow.

"No, go on then," Roger approved, glad to feel the weight of the situation lessen immediately, although unaware that B's absence made it so.

"I shall retire too," L suddenly declared after B disappeared into the elevator. "Come by my room before you go to dinner, Roger."

Roger gaped like a fish out of water. "Who… huh? I cannot push all of this by myself," he finally specified his dissent, swinging a hand towards the two dollies and their contents.

L stared blankly at Roger like he was bored beyond sentience and in the face of such an illogical statement; he had every right to do so. "A can help you," L explained when he realized the answer to Roger's problem did not appear evident to Roger despite A standing before him in the flesh.

"But he's such an unsteady, puny thing," Roger cried, appealing to L's non-existent sympathy.

"Roger…," A protested sulkily. "I'm standing right here!"

"You'll manage," L said with finality. He paused before walking away in the direction B had gone. "You must come by my room before you leave for dinner. Do you understand?"

Roger understood. This teenage twerp bossed him around like he was in charge, and truth be told, Roger couldn't be certain he wasn't. A and B only deferred to him when L did. "Fine, I'll see you then," Roger said through gritted teeth.

L shuffled away, nothing in his gait revealing he had even noticed Roger's displeasure at the turn of events.

"Next time Wammy asks me to chaperone," Roger intoned angrily at A. "Remind me to beg off. Any reason will do."

A pouted huffily and paid scrupulous attention to the dark coverings over the rat cages hiding them from prying eyes. Theatrical sighs accompanied each movement he made, progressively getting louder and more pronounced that Roger began to get irritated. They had pointedly ignored each other until Roger, past mere irritation now, muttered, "Drama Queen!" under his breath.

"What does that make you?" A asked, pissy mood worsening with each glare exchanged with Roger and unable to let the insult go.

"Circus Master?" Roger threw out without hesitation.

A's light laughter softened his strained expression. He examined Roger as if seeing him for the first time. "You've got the right of it," he said, adding his own insult to the comment. "Three rings and all.

"So that's how you see us?" he asked reproachfully, but Roger couldn't figure out if A felt the blame belonged to him, himself, B or L. He didn't ask but stayed the topic.

"No. Well, yes… sort of," Roger rambled past his guilt.

A looked small and defeated and so young. It was easy to forget how young these three were when their I.Q.'s were not. He tried to soften his response and be honest, "It's not your fault; you just do as you're told. Right? You've rules and such at Wammy's House. It can't be easy to be all on your own…," here Roger stumbled along again, knowing he was making a muck of things. Who brought up being parentless when trying to comfort a child!

"But you have each other. You, B and L seem to get along well enough," he finished lamely. "That's not a performance, is it?"

"No. No…," A said somberly, "we aren't always performing for the adults. Sometimes we're just ourselves." He was strangely subdued even when his abnormally-mature demeanor made Roger forget how young he was again.

"See," Roger hurried along sensing there was more to what A was saying but not certain he wished to be privy to it. "How nice it must be to have each other?" he asked, his condescending smile only affirming his ignorance to A, who smiled back with teeth.

"Of course, they're like family. L and B," A said with a little more bitterness than necessary, just in case Roger didn't pick up on the tone. "Who doesn't want a prima donna for a brother?"

"B certainly would need his own ring," Roger laughingly said, "His act is definitely a one-man show."

A nodded in agreement. "He likes being the center of attention," he added, warming to the metaphor. "He'd tame lions if L was in the audience."

"Oh no, L would have his own ring too," Roger spoke without noticing the stillness or pain clearly fusing A's stance now. "He'd be the bumbling clown. He'd escape, with nary a singe from the building of fire.

"Can you see it? He'd make the crowd laugh in awe and amazement and they'd never know what a wise-crack he was underneath the make-up," Roger continued, completely immersed in his daydream now.

A kept nodding, anything he said would be hateful or hurt his ego even more. Thankfully, even though Roger's tangents could go on seemingly forever, they were next to be called to register and Roger forgot all about his silly, three-ringed genii circus.


End file.
